


Distance Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

by pocketpuppet



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-02 16:02:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6572746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketpuppet/pseuds/pocketpuppet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're sixteen and your brother's decided that it's time to make a change. By which he means, moving halfway across the fucking country. Too bad he's a dick who doesn't care about what that may mean for you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distance Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

You could probably start this story just like every other one written about you. You could state your name and then give a quick blurb that describes your current situation. Like maybe how you're in love with your best friend, or how you have to move halfway across the country, or how _"nobody understands."_

But that would be dumb so you won't.

Why should you have to tell everyone all your personal details right away just because you're telling them about your life? That would ruin the story; it would lay everything bare right from the start and leave you nowhere to go later on down the road. So you're not going to do that. Instead, you're going to stare out the window and brood like the sullen little brat you are.

\------------

"We're moving to Austin."

The statement nearly escapes your notice, your mind focused on the battle with the umpteenth Zubat that deigned to grace you with its appearance. By time you've managed to process it, however, your brother's gone from sight, disappeared to somewhere else within the apartment. You snap the lid to your 3DS shut as you scramble from the bed and yell after him, "What do you mean, 'moving'?"

"Moving. Relocating. Leaving. Going from one place to another," he hollars back.

You find him in the kitchen, door to the fridge swung open and head shoved inside.

"No fucking shit, Sherlock. _Why_ are we moving?" You don't lean against the doorway to the kitchen. Instead, you stand there like an idiot with a look of incredulity written clear on your face.

He straightens at this point, his expression blank as a sheet and eyes unreadable behind pointed shades as he replies, "I got a new job there."

"Don't you just run some shitty porn site or something??"

"Porn sells but it only gets ya so far, kid."

You gape at him. He pays no mind as he returns back to his hunt for...whatever he's hunting for. Eventually he finds it and settles back against the counter to stare at you and stuff his mouth with cheetos. You open and close your mouth several times as you try to come up with an argument. Unfortunately, all you can manage is a simple protest of "But..." that only gets you a pity laugh, and a half-assed one at that.

"Sorry, li'l bro, but the deal's done. Already got a place lined up and everything." He pushes off from the counter, drops the now-empty bag of cheetos in the trash, and licks his fingers clean of the not-cheese dust. "Better get packing. Flight's this Friday."

He leaves you in the kitchen to stare after him as he disappears into his room.

\------------

You're halfway through packing (by which you mean, throwing your shit on the ground in frustration) when a thought crosses your mind. Or rather, _someone_ crosses your mind. John. Your best bro. The Sweet Bro to your Hella Jeff, the peanut to your butter, and all the other totally gay symbiotics you can think of. Basically, the one dude you tell everything. And yet the one guy you haven't told you were moving. Not that you've told anyone just yet but it still feels weird to have not told _him_ specifically.

Dropping the pair of socks you had balled in your hands, you flop onto your bed. You have to fumble around for a bit before locating your phone among the bed covers but eventually you find and scoop it up. Another couple minutes because you're half-paying attention as you unlock the phone and then open pesterchum and later rather than sooner you're sending John a message.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] \--

TG: sup  
EB: hey dude!  
TG: so  
TG: bro just told me were moving  
EB: what?  
EB: moving??  
EB: like, moving moving?  
TG: yeah  
EB: oh.  
EB: so...  
EB: where are you moving to exactly?  
TG: austin  
EB: austin...  
TG: texas  
EB: holy shit, dude.  
EB: you're kidding, right?  
EB: that's like half way across the country!  
EB: is he serious?  
TG: seemed pretty fucking serious to me  
TG: hes got most of his shit packed already  
EB: when does he plan on leaving?  
TG: apparently next week  
EB: whaaa....  
EB: how the hell did he not tell you this BEFORE now??  
TG: idk he just sprung it on me earlier  
TG: walked in and was all "guess what bro were moving to the shittiest fucking state in america next week pack your shit" and then fucking bailed  
TG: didnt even give me an explanation besides that he got a new job  
TG: as if he needs a new job hes gotta be a fuckin billionaire by now with all the shitty sites he runs  
EB: i don't know, dave. those sites _are_ pretty shitty, maybe he's not making that much off of them.  
TG: what no  
TG: those sites are fucking gold how could he not be making billions off them  
EB: maybe because nobody outside of the strider family thinks they're all that great?  
TG: well its a good fucking thing theyre not striders because theyd be forced to drop the family name if they didnt think those sites were the absolute shit  
EB: hehehe. whatever, dave.  
TG: dont you whatever me young man  
TG: i am your elder and i deserve to be treated with RESPECT  
EB: groooaaan.  
TG: dont make me get all aretha franklin on your ass  
EB: don't you have some packing to be doing?  
TG: ugh dont remind me  
TG: i guess i better get going  
EB: i'll see you in school monday?  
TG: yeah ill be there  
TG: see ya  
EB: bye!

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] \--

You're half-tempted to re-open the chat and ask him to come over. To help, of course. You've got so much shit to pack it's not even funny. How the hell did Bro expect you to get all this shit together by _Friday?_ You groan, loud and exaggerated, as you roll off the bed to do some actual packing. By the short burst of laughter in the other room, you're sure your brother heard. Good. At least he knows how you feel now.

\------------

The weekend goes by in a blur. Well, not really. You just don't feel like recounting everything that's happened because honestly not much happened. You packed your shit, you argued with Bro, you got your ass kicked when you whined just a little too much. Y'know, nothing big. So what's there to tell?

Still, come Monday, you're tired as hell and so not ready for AP Calculus. God fucking damn, who the hell honestly thought putting 21 teenagers in a college-level course _first thing in the morning_ was a wise fucking idea? It's almost as bad as putting you in gym class first period. It's just something that you do. Not. Do. _Ever._ Under any circumstances. So why some pompous asshat thought that would be a good idea, you'll never know.

Anyways, complaints aside, you still have to be there so you've got your ass seated in the uncomfortable plastic chair and your face rested against the wood grain desk. Your shades are pinching your skin uncomfortably, and you're sure to have a huge red spot on your forehead when you look up, but right now you really don't care. It's 7:55 ( _AM,_ you might add) and if you can get in five more minutes of sleep then you're damn sure going to get in five more minutes of sleep.

"Hey, Dave!"

...Or you would've if your goofball best friend hadn't just shown up.

You tilt your head up at the way-too-cheery voice, though your face never truly leaves the cool surface of your desk. It's just enough that you can look over the edge of your shades and fix John fucking Egbert with a glower as if to convey that it is way too fucking early for his shit.

Of course, all you get in return is a shit-eating grin and a laugh that even you can't help returning with the slightest of smiles. Thankfully, your face is still mostly hidden so he won't get the satisfaction of seeing it.

"Man, you look like shit," he comments. The chair creaks as he sits at the desk in front of you.

"Damn, Egbert, you really know how to woo the ladies," you return the teasing comment with a flatout deadpan. You shift around again, folding your arms on your desk and resting your chin in the crook of one of them. "You're setting my heart atwitter. It's beating so hard that it's gonna pull a Bugs Bunny and burst right through my chest. Hope you got a change of clothes 'cause it's gonna be raining blood like rose petals in a shitty anime." He just laughs even more, and this time you don't even bother to hide the quirk of your lips from him.

He doesn't get a chance to comment before Mrs. Carols waltzes in, however, her shrill voice driving needles straight into your ears as she starts in on the day's lesson.

\------------

You don't get another moment to actually talk to John until lunch period. You never really eat anything at lunch so you're the first to sit at your usual table, slouching enough that you can prop your feet in the seat across from you. Completely disregarding the teachers around you, you dig your phone from your pocket and open up one of the many numerous games you downloaded in your most recent fit of boredom. Technically, you're not supposed to have your phone here. But technically you really don't give a shit. It's just a fucking phone. What're you gonna do, record your history lecture so you can be bored later, too? Nah. You're not that big of a masochist.

John joins you moments later, dropping his lunchbox on the table as he plops into the seat next to you. Going by the soft thud, his feet find a spot in the chair opposite him. You barely spare a glance at him but as soon as he's unzipped the top, you snake a hand over and snatch the baggy of...carrots? that rest atop the other contents. You snort, roll your eyes, but take them anyways because you're not about to drop them. Carrots aren't _too_ bad. You guess.

Okay, they're pretty freaking terrible.

You resign to eat them despite your misgivings for the horrid orange vegetable and return to dicking around on your phone. You grimace--just slightly--at the slimy feel of them on your tongue, which of course doesn't escape the notice of Goofball McDickwad right next to you. He snickers so you give him a light punch on the arm. He feigns harm so you roll your eyes. He complains about how "that fucking hurt, Dave, jeez!! Don't you know how _fragile_ I am?" so you heave an exaggerated sigh and lean over to press a kiss to the spot with a taunting remark of "There, Mommy Dave made it all better."

He just snickers again. This time, you merely return it with a smile.

The two of you sit in silence for a while, apart from the slight noises made while eating. You don't mind sitting like this all that much. It's a relief sometimes, not having to talk. Your life's a hectic mess (you mean, look at who you're fucking brother is) so the stillness of lunch with John is a nice reprieve. Of course, being the numbnut he is, he eventually decides to be the one to break it.

"So... You're moving Friday." He says it so awkwardly, even steals a glance at you from the corner of his eye rather than turn to look at you. As if that would dial back the Awkward-Meter a notch or two.

"Yuuup." You draw out the single syllable of that word as best as you can. Finishing the last round of your game, you lock your phone and stuff it back into your pocket so you can turn your full attention to him. You even sit up and turn your body slightly towards him to signal your focus on him. Even so, it still takes him several moments before he opens his mouth again.

"I'm..." he begins, then falters. His fingers squeeze reflexively, thoroughly squashing the little bit of his sandwich that remained, before loosing his grip and setting the poor thing down. You don't make a comment on his nervousness, however. It's clearly not gonna help the situation any, and you kinda want to hear what he has to say. You do, however, watch him for any signs of what he might be thinking. Unlike you, he's fairly easy to read. Normally. Right now, you're not too certain on what's bothering him. Even with his darker complexion, his cheeks seem far redder than normal. And then there's the nervous glances, to you and then, more noticeably, anywhere _but_ you. It's...actually kind of cute.

And nerve wracking.

When it doesn't seem like he's saying anything of his own volition anytime soon, you sigh and lean forward in your seat to rest your elbow on the table. Now all you have to do is prop your chin in your palm and you're the perfect picture of nonchalance. "Spit it out, Egbert." Your prompt isn't really the kindest, most heartfelt one possible but it seems to do the trick.

"I'm--I'm gonna miss you," he finally blurts out, gaze settling on his hands. As if by staring at them he could will himself anywhere but here.

It's your turn to fidget in silence. Well, not really fidget. You more just stare at him as you process what he'd just said. Your first reaction isn't the picture of eloquence; it's to blurt out a careless "that's it?" or an even worse "shit, John, I thought you were gonna profess your love for me or something." Instead of saying either of those things, however, you opt for silence as you consider just what to say. Of course, that just seems to make him even _more_ nervous, given his incessant fidgeting, so you have to settle on something just to keep him from shitting his pants.

"I'm gonna miss you, too," is what you eventually land on, said almost too quietly to be heard over the shouts of your classmates. He seems to hear it fine, however, given the goofy grin that dons his face. He starts to open his mouth to say something else but stops short when the bell rings. The noise in the tiny cafeteria increases threefold as people stand and shuffle towards the exit. You both sit still as others brush past your table, close enough that you feel the occasional elbow bump against your shoulder. It takes several long moments before it finally settles down enough that you feel you can talk without having to shout, and all you say is, "Let's talk after school, yeah?" Then, using his shoulder as a brace, you stand up and leave to go to your next class.

\------------

You're nervous. It's cold as shit, and despite the cigarette carefully held between your index and middle fingers, you've got the urge to light another one and stick it between your lips. God fucking damn, why are you even this nervous anyways? It's not like you're doing anything illegal; you're just waiting for Egbert to show the fuck up already. They can't even do shit about your smoking since you're off school property. Although you guess the cops could say something since you're only sixteen... As if that'll happen, though.

You breathe out a sigh, the cloud pooling in front of your mouth only half from smoke, and flick what's left of your cigarette into the street. Jesus H. Christ. You're gonna freeze your balls off waiting for this asshole. If it weren't for the fact that you _need_ to stuff your hands in your pockets to keep from getting frostbite, you'd be lighting another cigarette just to have something to do. Even so, you fidget where you stand, shifting your weight from one foot to the next.

Eventually he shows up, hair blown back from his face and eyes watering thanks to the bitter wind. Despite this, however, his eyes are bright, and he looks ready to bounce right out of his shoes. You honestly don't understand how he can always be in such a good mood. You opt to respond with a huff and an indignant "What took you so long??" to which he merely rolls his eyes and retorts, "It was only five minutes, asshole." And with that out of the way, the two of you start off towards your home.

He's quiet during the walk. He still seems antsy but at least he's not babbling on about some nonsense, expecting you to listen. You live a good twenty minutes walk away so the silence isn't necessarily the most comfortable one but you pay it no mind and just keep your head ducked against the wind. If there's anything about New York that you won't miss, it's gotta be the bitter cold winds Old Man Winter so very much enjoys blowing out his asshole.

You fucking hate Old Man Winter.

You're more than a little relieved when you finally reach your apartment complex. The place is...okay. It's not a dump and it's not fantastic. But it _is_ warm. You have to remove your shades the minute you step through the doors, lest you want to run smack dab into a wall, but your steps never falter as you head straight to the elevator. A couple jabs to the up button and a quick rub of your shirt over your shade lenses later, and you're standing in the elevator waiting to ascend the 20-something floors to the level you live on. Just as the doors start to shut, however, a hand stops them and you're forced to press towards the back of the lift as more people crowd in. It takes an eternity but eventually the doors squeeze shut and your climb begins.

People slowly filter out as you work your way upwards, the lift stopping every few floors until you're left alone with John and one other man you vaguely recognize. You think he lives on the same floor as you. A quick flick of your gaze to the buttons confirms this, given that only one button remains lit.

The last moments of the ride pass by in stilted silence until finally the doors open with a final ping. The guy (your neighbor?) steps off first, with you and John bundling after him to avoid getting shut in the elevator again. He slips off down the hallway, unnoticed, as you unlock the door to your apartment. Ever the gentleman, you walk in before John and leave him to shut it so you can dump your backpack on the couch.

You kick your shoes off in the middle of the floor (you do have the decency to nudge them off to the side when you notice they're in the walkway) then disappear into the kitchen to find something to eat. Not eating lunch means that you're _always_ hungry by time you get home. And with your bottomless pit of a stomach, you can easily cram half a dozen different types of food down your throat before you're full. You have a guest today, though, and even if it is John, you have to at least be a decent human being and not act like such a fucking slob. So you throw together a simple peanut butter and jelly sandwich and begin stuffing your face with it.

John eventually trails in after you and doesn't hesitate to rummage through the fridge. You watch him indiscreetly a few steps away, leaning back against the counter and raising your gaze to meet his when he turns back around. By the quirk of his eyebrow, he must have noticed you checking him out; you just quirk one right back and silently dare him to say something. He doesn't.

Okay, the silence is really starting to eat at your nerves. Any other day, he's already gone through twenty different topics and ragged on you at least three times about your wandering eyes by this point. Today's he's quiet.

"So Egbert," you begin, voice muffled by the food in your mouth. You pause to swallow, then continue, "Has the proverbial cat got your tongue or something? Normally you've got like fifty billion things to talk about and yet today you're quieter than a fart from the head cheerleader on a date." That earns you a snort of laughter and a grin, and you can't help but smile. "Now c'mon. Whatever you got on your mind, you can say it. This is a No Judge Zone. Not even fuckin' Judge Judy can worm her ugly old ass in here." You unfold your arms and grip the counter behind you loosely, waiting for him to say something.

Several more moments of silence pass, during which he fiddles first with the straw on his juice box and next with his own fingers. You're about to heave a sigh and slump onto the counter from exasperation when he _finally_ says something.

"I want to kiss you."

His voice is clear, his intentions clearer. And yet somehow you're having trouble wrapping your mind around what he said. The gears are still turning in your head but you can't leave him hanging for long or else you'll make a total ass out of yourself so you suck it up and speak without thinking.

"A'ight, come here then." The slight hitch in your voice causes you more embarrassment than the rest of the whole situation. True eloquence right there. Yep. You're like satin, that's how smooth you are. Not silk, _satin._

God you're just glad Bro's not here to taunt you about that. You'd absolutely never hear the end of it.

He seems taken aback by your willingness on the matter but doesn't hesitate long. Guess he doesn't want you changing your mind (not that you will). You straighten as he steps closer then think better of it and slouch back against the counter again. He's several inches shorter than you so if you stand up too tall he won't be able to reach _to_ kiss you. Once he's within reach, you reach a hand out to rest on his cheek. You rub tiny circles with your thumb for a moment, waiting to see if he'd take the initiative. When he doesn't, you lean down and press your lips to his.

His lips are rough against yours; chapped; not altogether unpleasant. Your glasses clack together when you tilt your head so you pause long enough to take your shades off and set them aside. Then you kiss him again, your other hand coming up to run through his unruly hair. Eventually his hands come to rest on your chest and he leans in eagerly, eyes slipping shut and...

The sharp sound of the front door closing cuts the mood and he jumps away like he'd been burned. You just huff and roll your eyes, replacing your shades on your face as your brother comes into the kitchen.

You ignore the look he gives you as you slip past him into the living room.

\------------

"So..."

You gotta hand it to him, John's really got a way of making an awkward situation even worse. Dude's got a talent for it. You've told him before that he ought to go on America's Got Talent because that is some wickedly awkward powers he's got; he always responded with a laugh and a "yeah, okay, maybe _next_ year."

You look up from where you were stuffing your clothes half-assedly into a suitcase and turn your attention to him, quirking an eyebrow in question. "So...?" you prompt, putting a little lilt to your voice so he knows it's a question. You even do a little hand gesture to tell him to carry on, rolling your wrist in tight circles.

"...Is there any way we can make this work?" he asks when it's clear he has your attention.

"What work?" Brilliant. You mentally kick yourself at the clear look of hurt on his face. You heave a sigh and get up from the floor to instead plop down on your bed next to him. "Look, don't think I meant that as a dismissal. I just gotta make sure we're on the same page here. Can't have you thinkin' one thing and me thinkin' another. It'd make things way more awkward than they already are, and while I _know_ that's your natural element, it's not something I'm used to." You give him a lopsided smile in hopes of easing the tension.

Thankfully, it seems to work. He gives you a half-smile accompanied by an uneven laugh. "Yeah, I guess you're right," he concedes. "What I mean is, do you think we can make _this_ \--" He gestures between the both of you. "--work? Y'know, us?"

You barely give him a chance to finish before kissing him, cutting off the last of his words. He emits a startled little noise, as if he didn't expect that, but doesn't pull away. Instead, he presses in closer, head tipping back. He's clumsy about it, nose bumping yours and braces clanking against your teeth, but it's cute and you can't help but chuckle.

Another few moments of sloppy make-outs and then you're pulling away. He seems flustered by the sudden withdrawal but you just ruffle his hair and mutter, "Yeah, we'll make this work. Don't worry. A little distance ain't enough to scare me off." You leave him on the bed and return to packing, but not before you get a look at that goofy grin of his.

\------------

Tuesday comes and goes, as does Wednesday, and Thursday, and... Well, Friday morning comes. You don't go to school; your flight's at two so there's no point. You help Bro load the last of your shit into the car. The uhaul with everything else left last night. You'll still beat them down there regardless but it'll only be by a few hours at most instead of an entire day. The only reason you even had as much shit together as you did was because John came over and helped you whenever he could. Of course, he really only spent about half of that time actually helping... The rest of the time was filled with the sloppiest of make-outs you've ever had.

John really fucking needs some kissing lessons.

You toss the last suitcase into the bed of your brother's truck with a grunt. Jesus. He's gonna be paying some mad amounts of extra cash just to carry all these suitcases on there. What the fuck's even in all these? You only had the one suitcase and a carry-on, and yet _he's_ got like four.

Whatever. With a final glance over your shoulder, you walk several steps away and light up a cigarette. A hand claps you hard on the back just as you take a drag, and you splutter as you breath the smoke in too sharply. The cigarette falls to the ground as you cough, painfully, and try your best not to retch. When you've finally composed yourself enough that you're in no threat of hacking up a lung or two, you straighten and fix your brother with a glare. "The fuck was that for?" you spit at him, voice hoarse.

He just shrugs and leans against the side of his truck. "You really think it's gonna work with that kid?" he inquires instead. He leans down and retrieves your dropped cigarette, placing it between his lips instead. You scrunch your nose in disgust.

You're not exactly keen to light another one--not after that coughing fit you just had--so you stuff your hands in your pockets just so they're not hanging limply at your side. A few moments of silence pass; you gnaw at the inside of your cheek, grimacing when you taste blood, as you turn your thoughts over and over in your head. Eventually you have to settle on a shrug and an "I'unno." Thankfully, he has the decency to not press the issue.

He finishes your (his?) cigarette right about the time your toes start to go numb, dropping it to the ground. A quick scuff of his foot to make sure it's out then he's heaving the driver's door open and climbing in. You have to scramble but you manage to get in just as the truck lurches into reverse, and you slam the door shut. He's already well on his way out of the parking garage by time you get buckled.

\------------

Despite the change in scenery, your current situation is about the same as it was earlier: Bored, with nothing to do but wait. You spend all of forty minutes dicking around on some app called Miitomo (what the fuck even is that app besides a meme machine?) before growing tired of that and dropping the phone in your lap. You slouch in your seat, slipping down enough that you can rest your head comfortably against the back of the chair. Shut your eyes and... you're actually kinda comfortable. Kinda. About as much as you can be, anyways, given the circumstances.

You've damn near dozed off when you hear the telltale blip of a new message. You groan, exaggeratedly loud, and don't even bother to move from your position to check the message. Instead, you lift the phone up from your lap and hold it above your head to check it. When you see the familiar blue text, however, you smile just a little bit.

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead \--

EB: hey, dave!  
EB: you ready for your flight today?  
TG: nah  
TG: bro woke me up at the most god fucking awful hour just to load the shit in the truck  
TG: can you believe he had the gall to wake me before 9 this morning  
EB: gasp!  
EB: how dare he wake you up at a normal hour like a normal person?  
EB: the nerve of that man! they ought to send him to jail for such atrocities.  
TG: really playin up the sass there egbert  
TG: whats got your panties in a knot did ms martin assign some bullshit essay about why the industrial revolution was so important or some shit  
EB: pff no, nothing like that.

Another message pops up on the screen but your attention is pulled away by the announcement that your flight was boarding in fifteen minutes. You exhale slowly and refocus on your chat with John.

EB: and even if she did, it's not like i was there to actually know about it.  
TG: what why  
TG: did something happen  
TG: goddammit john if something fucking happened to you im kicking your ass  
EB: right, because the best thing to do when your best bro gets hurt is to kick his ass. obviously.  
TG: damn fucking right it is  
TG: now spill it egbert  
TG: my flight boards in ten minutes so dont got a lot of time to be messing around here  
EB: look up, dave.  
TG: what  
EB: look up!

You learned long ago to go along with his shenanigans. Doesn't mean you're going to do it without complaining, though. You're halfway through typing a response (something along the lines of "fucking christ egbert the shit i do for you"), gaze lifting upwards, when you pause. Because right fucking there--not even _twenty feet away_ \--is that idiot you call your best friend. He's grinning right at you, and he's bouncing on his toes, and he's fucking _waving at you in the coyest way possible how the fuck do you even wave coyly jesus christ._

And yet his smile is sweet and he's _here_ so despite the fact that you're pretty sure he got this idea from one of his shitty movies, you grin right back at him.

You're on your feet in no time, phone abandoned in your seat, and closing the distance. Makes it easier that he's walking towards you, too. You greet him with a hug, scooping him up in your arms, and plant a kiss right on his lips. You don't even care that your glasses are bumping awkwardly, or that he's laughing, you just kiss him. He eventually reciprocates, though he's still grinning.

When you pull away, all you can think of to say is "You're a piece of shit, Egbert. Meeting me at the airport right before I'm supposed to get on the plane like I'm some lovestruck chick leaving behind her prick of a love interest in one of your shitty movies." He just laughs and leans up to smooch you again.

The next time you pull away, it's only because they announce that your flight is about to begin boarding. You sigh and rest your forehead on his briefly (again, ignoring the awkward clanking of your glasses) then break apart altogether. "I gotta go," you mutter in resign. You plant another quick kiss on his lips and smile at him. "But we'll make this work."

He returns your sweet smile with a beaming one of his own, echoing you in a murmur, "We'll make this work." Then he steps a few paces back and you turn to go grab your carry-on. "I'll see you soon, Dave!" he calls after you.

You acknowledge this with a wave over your shoulder and smile to yourself.

\------------

...And there you have it. All the paramount events of the past seven days. Er, six days. Technically. But what-the-fuck-ever, it's close enough.

In spite of your earlier griping, you can't stay sullen forever, especially not when you've got that bucktoothed grin on your mind. That big, dumb, way too fucking cute, _beaming_ grin on your mind. You actually breath out a quiet sigh just thinking about.

Jesus fucking Christ you're acting like a 14 year old tween who just found her 'one true love.' You immediately grimace and pull a face when that thought crosses your mind; it even makes you a little bit queasy.

A hum in your throat, you settle back in your seat and slip your pair of noise cancelers over your ears.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm pretty sure it's already clear who's the main "you" is here so I'm not even gonna address that.
> 
> Actually, I'm not sure I need to leave an end note at all? Obviously the story doesn't end here. I'll be doing more chapters, they just may take me a while to write considering how I want to pace the story. The first few chapters will probably be paced different than the final few but we'll see on that I guess. I just have a general idea what I wanna do with this so there's no set 'mile-markers,' so to speak. I'll try to update whenever I can, though, so no worries. p:


End file.
